


i know you know

by m0ette



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Warped Tour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0ette/pseuds/m0ette
Summary: "And what do you think about the people who like, quote-unquote, ship you two?" The interviewer emphasizes the word with exaggerated quotation marks, but a quick blush creeps up to the tips of his ears when Ten laughs."If the idea of me fucking my best friend inspires someone to create," he shrugs, "then who am I to stop them?"Johnny and Ten's decade long friendship finally blossoms into a long-awaited romance to everyone's simultaneous relief and annoyance. Among the busy tour life of Warped, people find out.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 16
Kudos: 269
Collections: NCT Bigbang Round 1





	i know you know

"And what do you think about the people who like, quote-unquote, ship you two?" The interviewer emphasizes the word with exaggerated quotation marks and almost drops the microphone with a larger-than-comfortable name plaque of an up-and-coming alternative news outlet, barely catching it by the cord before it can reach the concrete floor.

The poor guy blushes up to the tips of his ears when Ten laughs. He drops his gaze for just a second, and then holds Ten’s eye contact anyway, which is commendable - not everyone can handle his proximity even if a lot of people would kill to try. Ten closes his eyes for a second to give the teen a breather and takes this moment to gather his thoughts.

"If the idea of me fucking my best friend inspires someone to create," he shrugs, finger drawing circles on the skin of his thigh exposed through his fashionably ripped jeans. The nail leaves a faint white scratch that turns red with a second's delay. "Then who am I to stop them?"

Ten knows this interview will be a hot topic at this year's Warped if his - or Johnny's, which is more likely - managers don't cut the last question out of the final draft completely. Opening up to someone outside of their friend group, even in such a vague manner - more teasing than anything - feels exciting, and Ten zeroes in on the boy when he asks about Ten's personal feelings on the matter. 

Under his gaze, the boy can’t see the anxious tremble in Ten’s hands. 

"It's an honor, really," is what Ten says at first.

Then, pushing his luck further, he leans in closer. "Have you seen him?" His voice lowers, now barely whispering. "Isn't he hot?"

The interviewer laughs his agreement.

Johnny is hot, there is no doubt about that. Ten thinks about him on the last day they saw each other, his new piercing, his hands squeezing Ten's ass as Ten tried to make the mark on his right ear symmetrical. Thinks about the blowjob he received as thanks, and about Doyoung's disgusted face when he walked in on them, too. 

He also thinks about the game they play with their following, the staged will-they-won’t-they romance - ha! - of theirs that tethers on the edge of being exposed as very much real with every interview like this one, or with something more daring like the matching tattoos they get during the Taste of Chaos in winter or a kiss Johnny drags Ten into just a second before the curtains close after they perform their cover of  _ Under Pressure _ together for the first time on a TV stage.

Ten, however, has never been more sure about anything in his life, and maybe - just maybe - this has been the first step to shining sunlight onto something he did not want freezing in the shadows. 

NCT departs for LA to film some promotional appearances in support of their new album, successfully missing both Canada dates much to Mark's dismay. Ten only sees Johnny in the rare group shots with the fancy studio backdrops their manager tweets out and a single bathroom selfie Johnny posts especially for Ten - and hundreds of waiting fans, of course, no need to play coy - before he accidentally drowns his phone in Santa Monica, of all places, in a very typical Johnny fashion. 

They manage to talk through Mark once and, by the time their tour bus joins the rest of the crew on the road up to Chicago, Ten has missed Johnny enough to drag him into the gas station's dingy bathroom and kiss him senseless - lips on lips and hands on hips like he's been dying to for the past week. 

The stop lasts fifteen minutes: they are sucking faces for the better half of it, and spend the rest of this time in line trying to get Yangyang some of the peaches he couldn't shut up about ever since he compiled the States Specialties - to never be abbreviated! - list before the tour started. After, Johnny follows Ten onto his bus naturally, and NCT only notice him missing when they are already halfway into the pirated Spiderverse movie no one had time to go to the cinema to watch. Ten feels Taeyong's exasperation through Johnny's brand new phone but ignores it happily in favor of hugging his little spoon of a boyfriend some more. 

The first day back in Illinois is spent in preparations, with Ten high up in his anxiety for having rehearsed his feature song from NCT's newest album only once since its recording. Kun shakes his head when Ten leaves, but does nothing to stop him from going: even though Weishen were his home now, Ten has been together with NCT for a long enough time to think of them as family, too - now probably more than ever with all of the long-awaited romance that's finally blossomed out of Johnny and Ten's decade long friendship to everyone's simultaneous relief and annoyance. 

So Johnny sings his heart out to the bright piano chords of the song Ten's written for him, and Ten picks at the strings of his guitar, shadowing him gently; the two come together, synergy unmatched, and Ten finds himself lost in the sound. Tonight, it's his favorite song.

"I love your voice," he cuts the long outro short and watches Johnny leave the mic behind to come closer, push him against the putrid cushion of the backstage couch, and finally kiss him again, the guitar now discarded. 

Ten does love Johnny's voice. He also loves Johnny's hands all over him like this, and he loves Johnny's lips on his like this, too. What Ten doesn't love, however, is being walked in on, any illusion of privacy on tour being just that - an illusion. 

"Suh," Ten's manager sighs, "please put your shirt back on and let our guitarist go." 

Ten grins, handing Johnny the shirt they just barely managed to take off and watches Johnny put it back on hastily, ears red from both embarrassment and tight neckline. He still smiles down at Ten, though, and presses a playful kiss to his cheek when he helps Johnny off the couch, if just to piss the manager off.

The manager has spent enough time with Ten to grow a thicker skin to any of his antics, and this one - after direct and unashamed flirting in public, for instance - was innocent enough for him to let it slide. He waits for Ten to pack his guitar and holds the door open for him when they leave, bidding Johnny goodbye.

"See you soon," Ten waves to Johnny, the gesture a little too exaggerated for the small room and the short distance between them, and Johnny barely manages a stifled  _ yeah, see you _ through bubbling laughter. 

They film some more interviews later that evening - with smaller online editorials and music blogs, mostly, aspiring self-proclaimed journalists tripping all over the convoluted compliments after NCT's newest release.

"Wait till you hear it live," Ten teases a line of it in his own rendition, and then brings the attention back to Weishen, unwilling to give their spotlight up now that it's finally theirs.

The sun burns Ten's eyes, and he can barely look up at the stage to watch the up-and-coming local band trying to rock what little of an audience they have at the early hour with a  _ Smashing Pumpkins _ cover - as any respectable Chicago cover band would. They play some of what Ten assumes is their own stuff after, and the sound is decent enough: more on the pop side of the punk they claim to be, granted, but Ten sips at the watered-down lemonade and googles the band members to properly greet them later anyway.

Yuta joins him at the barricades and brings some more lemonade Ten is eternally grateful for. They walk backstage together after the set and chat the band up, talking Warped, musical influences, and possible collabs. The boys - none older than twenty - look at them with an apparent mixture of awe and pride, and it both flatters Ten, who'd been in their shoes once upon a time, and humbles him. 

The boys politely decline Yuta's invitation for a game of poker on their bus later, probably having deciphered Ten's scandalized look correctly, and retire backstage before he can insist. It’s a good thing, Ten thinks, the early exposure to the chaos that is either of their bands’ tour homes cannot be good for the delicate minds of the modern youth, however tough they want to appear. 

"One EP out and already on a bus," he whistles. "It took us a year and four Billboard placements to let Johnny's minivan rest, and I didn't get on a bus until Weishen became a thing."

"Don't be jealous," Yuta says, draping himself over Ten's shoulders. "Those were some good times."

Ten doesn't object, even if most days were spent trying to find some songwriting inspiration in the same handful of awfully familiar faces surrounding him ever since he left home that April, and trying to talk the driving Johnny out of falling asleep at the wheel most nights. They would often wake up in a new city, explore it until the club called for a soundcheck, and then perform: for hundreds at times, and sometimes for three drunk bouncers and a teenage girl with her long-suffering father, dutifully chaperoning her through the age restrictions - as luck would have it. The cycle would repeat until they earned enough to book a hotel room for a night or two to unwind, take a proper warm shower, and finally sleep - stretched out on a strangely unmoving surface for once, even if twin beds were never meant to fit two people, - and then their van would hit the road again.

Maybe it was somewhere during those nights - talking to Johnny to keep them from falling asleep, or hugging Johnny from behind to keep them from falling off the bed - that Ten himself fell for Johnny. 

Yuta's right, like he mostly is. Those were some good times. 

It's better now, though. Leaving that band, graduating college instead, finding Weishen and joining them - out of a simple want and not the desperate need to fill the void his knee fracture left him with the very first semester at Tisch, - gave Ten a new taste for the stage and the roar of the crowd before him, forcing him to sing.

He leaves Yuta in Doyoung's hands near the merch booth and rushes back to his bus to get a sandwich or two in before his manager all but drags him out and towards the East Coast stage. It's still half an hour wait until their call, so Ten manages to run through their set-list with Yangyang in double time - for fun, - and once with Kun, but " _ like normal people this time, please _ ".

For someone who's already headlined festivals before, Ten shouldn't be feeling like this on a call to a second-rate day stage, and yet the closer he is, the more erratic the unsteady beat of his heart becomes - that is until Guanheng counts six to one of their first song on the kick-drum and the sea of sound hits him, washing all of his worries away.

It’s all a blur after that. One song flows into another in a well-practiced bass transition Sicheng seems too proud of, the third one adds to the mid-July heatwave. The crowd drowns in the pure white of the zenith sun and still manages to scream along with Xiaojun, losing any coherency after Ten asks for more noise. 

If Ten thinks about how it would’ve been if he hadn’t left SR15B all those years ago, it’s never because he regrets it.

He only notices them after Weishen are done with their greetings. It’s Taeyong’s impossibly blue hair first, bouncing to the far left on the bleachers, and then Johnny’s large frame behind him. Johnny screams along with the excited teens in the fan zone, and Ten gives him a small wave before striking the first chords of their last song.

Ten smiles. Two can play this game. 

After they are done, it's a run against time to the main stage; Ten, head still reeling from the performance before, runs across the parking lot, with his manager barely following. He flies into the green room with five minutes to spare and barely has time to catch his breath before the tour manager comes in, all of NCT in tow. 

Reuniting with them on the stage is a different kind of terrifying. Where they have never been truly separated - no ugly break up, no hard feelings, no months without a call, - revisiting the discography that didn’t belong to any of them in part anymore is a lot of pressure Ten didn’t expect. 

The thing about performing with NCT is that Ten has been a part of it long before it became a thing, and it only takes the first few chords from Jaehyun for Ten to place their sound and join in, even if he hasn't heard the song in years. They run and re-run the material again, cramped in the tiny space, and Ten mostly doubles whatever rhythm line Mark is playing, until they get to his song. 

Ten understands premiering the single before a crowd like this - thousands of people, fans and casual onlookers alike, - but the slower, softer songs have never been his favorites for the big festival nights, and Ten only goes with it because Johnny turns to him from where he sits at Ten's feet and gives him the happiest smile, leaving him no choice. 

Unlike Weishen, NCT are given a more favorable evening slot, and it’s long hours of waiting after the soundcheck is done. Ten stays a while, content with being squeezed on the two-seat sofa between Johnny and Mark warming his sides under a blasting AC. Johnny vlogs, and they talk all things Chicago and what it means to them over the tinny sound of Doyoung’s string-picking across the room and Taeil’s vocal runs from the next room down the corridor. It’s a comfortable scenario, one Ten likes tours like Warped for, and in his ideal world, all days are similar to this: summer, stage, friends - yesterday, today, tomorrow.

When NCT are called to the stage, Ten leaves the cold room reluctantly, the contrasting heat and heavy anticipation prickling his skin with a sudden wave of goosebumps. Watching them from the side of the stage is very different from the view Ten got used to during this year’s tours - the second barricade, usually, never closer, - and he finds himself entranced by the energy they exude together, as a band, and the energy they receive back from the audience of Johnny’s hometown - the city where it all started - multiplied tenfold. It’s not just a matter of practice, because it’s not like they play it exactly the same every show, like it is on the album. It’s some kind of alchemy, is what it is; it’s different from what Ten has with Weishen, but it’s a good kind of different, and on cue, he dives into it headfirst. 

Ten likes playing music. He likes the noise that fills his head up and gets him out of it on adrenaline, and he likes the reverb that itches his lungs when he stands too close to the amp, and he's burning hot under the light of the setting sun and eyes of thousands of people watching. He’s burning under the weight of Johnny’s hand slung over his shoulders as he gives Ten the mic to sing the chorus, and he’s burning still, swinging the guitar to the back and wrapping his hands around Johnny’s neck, bringing him down for a kiss. 

Startled for only a moment, Johnny kisses Ten back, easing into the embrace readily. It’s almost cathartic with how different this kiss is from all the kissing they were up to in front of the cameras before, and how his own frantic heartbeat is the only thing Ten can hear at this moment. 

Johnny’s kiss - the sweet mint of it on his tongue, the raised skin of a fresh tattoo under his fingertips, the long hair, tickling his cheeks - all of it, why is it so different now?

The two seconds - it couldn’t have been more than that - stretch infinitely, until Ten breaks away and steps back, last chords of their first ever song coming in muffled through his racing mind. He can hear the crowd now that his heart rate is starting to wind down again, but there’s no fear in him when he faces them again, and he finally knows the answer.

It’s only the two of them, in the end. Johnny sings again, dark smudgy eyes and soft, pouting mouth, runs his hands through his own hair, scraping his fingernails down his own throat, and reaches out to Ten, again and again, and Ten trembles. Baring his soul on the stage daily, he was not prepared for the level of intimacy sharing this song in front of a live audience would bring, but he almost wants to push the boundaries further - to see just how much he can stretch it without the band snapping. 

He doesn't, because he's not crazy, and he bows the last greeting with others when they come back, leaving the stage sated and, for once, calm. 

He doesn’t risk joining the audience for Taemin’s set, though he’d love to, and retires back to the buses with the rest of their crew. The performance, though the full impact of it will only be visible overnight, is an uncontested success, and the spirits are high when they pile into the cramped lounge of NCT’s larger bus for the promised poker night. Ten hears Taeyong shouting at someone to come over, and some minutes later Weishen join them, loud and enthusiastic as always.

They draw lots and split in two, with losers moving back to the kitchen area unwillingly. There’s always someone coming in from the lounge to fetch some snacks and soda, but Doyoung at the head of their table has the fridge just within arm’s reach, so the move is celebrated with watered-down liquor before they ante the buttons they usually bet for the first time this night. 

Ten, though good at poker, doesn’t really care for it beyond a few deals, so he watches the game lazily instead from his spot on the worn couch, warmed up to Johnny’s side. Johnny runs his free hand down Ten’s back, strong and sure, and, with nothing to prove to anyone, it still feels like a claim that has Ten’s blood rushing to the surface of his skin where Johnny’s calloused fingers press with purpose.

When Johnny doubles the number of buttons he came with, it’s already dark. He pats Kun devastated over his two remaining pearl cuff buttons, and gets up, stretching with an audible satisfying crack in his neck. Ten grabs his hand and pulls himself up, too, dragging the warm mottled quilt with him. 

"Stay, you lucky bastard," Yuta tells him, though there’s no malice in it, "the night is still young."

"Gotta know your limits," Johnny says, and buttons jingle in his pocket, the sound of it small and victorious.

They leave the bus and hide in its shadow from the bright lights of the West Coast stage tents. The dark sky, completely starless, swallows the distant noise of the heated festival crowd, and it’s actually cold here, in the safety of the staff-only access parking lot. Ten wraps the quilt around himself, and leans back into Johnny’s embrace when he wraps his hands around him and leans in, whispering:

“Anyone on Weishens’ bus?” 

Ten smiles in response, though Johnny can’t see it. “Don’t think so. We can check.”

The bus is empty save for Ten’s manager, bless his unfortunate soul, snoring lightly in the big lounge armchair usually occupied by Ten himself. Ten squints at the audacity, but doesn't comment on it, moving past him quietly, dragging Johnny further down the bus. 

Johnny holds him back in the lounge, stealing rushed kisses, more teasing than any actual proposition. Ten hisses at him, pointing back to the manager, and Johnny rolls his eyes. "What has he not seen at this point, honestly," he says, and it’s a fair point, so Ten allows himself to be kissed, allows Johnny to take the quilt off him, allows him to warm his cold hands on the now exposed skin of his waist. He enjoys the acute sense of being watched and, for a fleeting moment, fancies himself an exhibitionist, especially after today’s performance, though when he turns, exposing his neck for Johnny to kiss, the manager is still soundly asleep, and it's a relief. 

After all the day’s exposure, Ten would much rather have Johnny to himself for just this while. Poker, he hopes, will keep the rest of them busy until he has finally had his fill, so Ten doesn’t waste any more time and maneuvers them to the sleeping area, clumsy fingers barely finding the lock to close the door behind them.

Johnny pushes Ten against it, hiding him from the dim light of the lamp in long need of fixing, and his movements no longer hold the teasing playfulness they managed to maintain through the day. He tightens his grip on Ten’s waist, thumbing over the sensitive skin of his hip bones, and Ten rolls them forward, swift and shallow, looking to relieve the growing tension. 

The kiss does not hold the same urgent haste, and Ten opens up to it readily, bringing Johnny closer. It gives Johnny some freedom to move his hands further to squeeze his ass and finally bring them flush against one another - Ten’s sharp exhale is hot and wet over Johnny’s parted lips, and the arousal rushes up and down his spine, with his cock responding to the contact readily. 

Johnny’s cheeks are burning under Ten’s touch and Ten anchors himself to this feeling of Johnny being real and being here with him at long last. He breaks the kiss to touch his lips to Johnny’s nose and chin and forehead, and his warm cheeks under Ten’s fingers, and Johnny laughs, frustrated but kind, and brings his hands up to hug Ten against his chest tighter. 

They stay like this, sharing the telling silence of the want and the need for each other finding some long-awaited release, though when Johnny pulls Ten’s hair back to kiss him anew, Ten isn’t sad to let the moment go. He undoes the zipper on Johnny’s jeans and smiles into the kiss, pleased with the involuntary jerk of Johnny’s hips when Ten finally gets his hand on his half-hard cock. He runs his fingers up and down in a tight ring and swallows the first hushed moan from Johnny’s lips. 

“That okay?” He asks, smirking. “Or want me to blow you instead?” 

Dark with growing arousal, Johnny’s eyes meet his. The gaze weighs on Ten, and he struggles to resist the urge to submit - for now, at least, - and raises his eyebrow in question.

He would've been fine with either option, though when Johnny gets to undressing him, pushing Ten down the corridor to his bunk, Ten is okay with it, too. He lifts his arms obediently and helps with the belt before Johnny tugs the loose pants right off, and then Ten is too naked for the amount of clothing Johnny still has on. 

"Careful," Johnny says, and pushes Ten down, a protective hand over his head. Ten falls back on his bed and watches Johnny first take the shirt off, outstretched hands brushing the ceiling, and then slip the jeans all the way down, stepping out of them carelessly and leaving them on the floor, forgotten. 

Ten reaches a hand out to brush over his thigh, the hair over a faded tattoo of a lion in Gryffindor colors coarse; up to his side with the bones of his wide ribcage sticking out; down the slight definition of the abs Johnny’s been working on recently, and past the smooth appendectomy scar disrupting the dark hair below his navel, down still.

“You’re so hot,” Ten tells him, the easy tone masking his own arousal. 

He can hear Johnny’s satisfied smirk when he speaks. “So I’ve been told,” he says, running a hand through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead only to see them fall back again. “You’ve made quite the headlines.”

“Is that so?” 

Ten finally brings his hand down to palm Johnny's cock again, this time squeezing at the base deliberately before guiding it into his mouth. He hears Johnny gasp, and when he looks up, Johnny is staring right back at him. He watches intently as Ten opens his mouth wider to swallow him deeper, and Ten has to give himself a few tugs to relieve the building tension before he brings both hands back up to work over the full length where his lips cannot reach. 

He closes his eyes and relishes the taste of precome filling his mouth, the smell that comes with it, the low sound of Johnny moaning, losing the thread of the conversation in the feeling, now seemingly unimportant. Ten goes down, as far as he can, holding Johnny’s hips in place, and lets him hit the back of his throat a few times before he lets go for air, working Johnny with just his hands for a bit instead. Then he laps his tongue over the side of the swollen vein, running a thumb over the slit at the head, and keeps at it until he feels Johnny’s thighs start trembling under his hands with exertion. 

Ten finds a comfortable rhythm until Johnny’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly - his cock slips past Ten's lips, leaving a wet trail on his chin, and Johnny thumbs it dry before bending over to meet Ten's swollen mouth in a bruising kiss again. 

The position is uncomfortable for both, so it’s a relief when Johnny pushes Ten back to the bed and climbs in after, settling on top of him. The space is entirely too small for one person, let alone two, and Johnny fills all of it, the heated skin-on-skin too much all at once for Ten. He's everywhere, all around, and it seems like he can't get any closer, but Johnny's hot breath fans over the sensitive skin of Ten's neck, whispering promises of more to come, following them right through. 

“I like the boldness,” Johnny says, somehow lucid enough for words, and Ten wants him to shut up and put his mouth to better use. Johnny wouldn't be Johnny if he complied, though - he circles his large palm around both their cocks, watching Ten fall apart momentarily at the sudden stimulus, and keeps his mouth running. "It's none of anyone's business, though? I think."

Ten whimpers at the sure movement of his hand up and down, warm and slick with precome, and gets more worked up the longer Johnny is looking at him, as if honestly hoping for a reply. 

And what can Ten say to that? What's done is done; if the rumor had it that there was, at least at some point, something more between them than the friendship they’ve never hidden, there will not be a person on the festival grounds come morning who won’t know about just how real all of this is. And if it is an ego thing, just like his therapist suggested, at this point Ten doesn't think fighting it is necessarily worth it.

“But I want that,” he says finally, voice too hoarse from the hot dry air. He swallows thickly; for someone who hasn't gotten laid properly in weeks, they were too wordy for Ten's liking, but he feels strangely compelled to get his point across. “Maybe all I want is for people to know you’re fucking me good? Have you thought of that?"

Johnny coughs, as if thrown off by the comment, and then laughs, and this laugh resonates through Ten's body in shivers. When he stops, breathless, his heart is beating loudly against Ten's chest.

"I am not fucking you," he emphasizes the negation, mirth shining in his eyes.

“Yet," Ten says. He runs a hand over Johnny's back, hugging him closer. They are tangled over the made-up bed, indiscernible one from the other in the dark, and Ten is so hard from just the handjob alone he doesn't think he will last much if Johnny doesn't do something about it very soon. “Get on with it!”

He doesn't need to repeat himself after this. Johnny licks his fingers and works Ten open with a well-practiced kind of efficiency long years of familiarity bring. Ten is so worked up he can't relax, hot waves of a building climax surging through him, but it doesn't take long for him to loosen up enough when Johnny adds lube to the spit, the drag of his fingers in and out slick and easy.

Johnny drags Ten on top of him, and Ten has to lean in closer to avoid bumping into the bunk above. It's kind of uncomfortable, and there's not enough leverage for any kind of impactful movement, but Johnny is pushing him down, and then he's pushing in, and swallows Ten's cry that follows.

He thrusts harder and watches Ten struggle to keep his thighs tight. Ten's slipping, weak as Johnny pounds into him, and he knows Johnny fucking likes that, that bastard, likes how it weighs Ten heavier against him and he works harder to really fuck Ten the way he deserves to be fucked.

When the locked door rattles in its frame, neither of them stops. Johnny wraps his hand around Ten and flips them over, the new angle making Ten cry out loud, and Ten brings his legs around him, digging his heels into Johnny's back, forcing him in even deeper.

At the knock that follows, Ten tugs at the curtain separator absentmindedly which does nothing to drive away the intruder, whoever that is. "Ten? You're in here?" A disembodied voice asks, and Ten is too far gone to place it.

"Yeah," he manages, and Johnny shuts his mouth with a kiss just in time to swallow a loud moan that would've given them out right away.

There's a noise on the other side, some quick back and forth in Chinese Ten can't quite understand in his haze, and then knocking resumes. "Is Johnny with you?"

Johnny dares to laugh at that, and Ten huffs in annoyance at the sheer inability of his bandmates to get the hint of a closed door. 

"He is," Ten says, giving Johnny a look. "Now fuck off, will you?"

It works, unexpectedly. They lie, quiet for a few moments, listening to the bus engine come alive somewhere below, but then Johnny wraps his fingers around Ten's neglected cock, driving his hips forward in sync, and everything around him suddenly blurs with pleasure.

Johnny kisses the ugly unfeeling scar on Ten's knee, and Ten instinctively holds the leg closer to his chest, keeping Johnny away with his foot. Johnny takes a hold of it and pushes Ten's legs further apart before thrusting back in, then out again, all the way, leaving Ten to roll his hips down, chasing the lost contact with a positively desperate whine. 

"Shush," Johnny kisses him again, long and purposeful, and Ten feels his hot tears roll down his temples, mixing with sweat and getting lost in the short hair. He's too close already, and Johnny, denying Ten the release he desperately needs, manoeuvres him onto his stomach with ease, pressing his full weight on top of Ten, warm and solid.

The slide of his cock back in is smooth with the thorough and slick stretch, and Ten groans into his pillow, too far gone to focus on anything but Johnny.

Ten can feel Johnny with every last square inch of his body, in and out. He licks at Ten's neck, nibbling at the pierced ear occasionally, and his breath, hot and labored, sends shivers down his spine from where his teeth sink into the rose he tattooed on Ten's shoulder with the permanent bruise from the guitar strap over it. 

Johnny presses into him, full-bodied and heavy, and Ten presses back into his chest, though they couldn't possibly be any closer than this. Johnny’s hands, so sure against the prickled skin, smooth out the goosebumps on his arms and then run downwards to squeeze at the hips, spreading them wider. He sinks his cock in again, and it burns with a tighter stretch, but Johnny fits his thumbs alongside it, too, and picks up the pace - fast, rhythmic, and precise - and Ten’s finally coming all over his rough sheets, untouched.

He buries his face into the pillow, relieved moan turning into overwhelmed sobbing as Johnny pounds into him, chasing his own release. Ten's whole body tenses, and he acutely feels the moment Johnny finishes, too; he finally slows and stays there, buried deep inside Ten, and Ten can't help the involuntary jerk of his hips back that makes him whimper. 

Johnny lies down beside Ten and wraps his hands around him, keeping them close - the big spoon, for once, - and doesn't let go until the sweat on their skin starts to cool, slow on the stuffy bus. The air around them smells undeniably of sex, and Ten can barely register the thought of his bandmates complaining about it for at least a week to come before he slips into a sated sleep.

It doesn't seem to last long; Ten's awoken by Johnny trying to climb over him into the corridor, and Ten keeps him down for a short kiss before letting go. Johnny fishes some wet wipes from Ten's bunk and wipes himself down before putting his pants back on, and then he wipes Ten as well, quick and efficient. He sits down when the bus makes a turn, and submits to Ten's hands dragging him back in for more kissing.

He indulges Ten, allows himself to be kissed, and kisses Ten back until Ten tries to get him back onto the bunk. "We have a hotel night on Tuesday," Johnny says, the implied promise bringing a smile to Ten's lips.

"Alright," Ten agrees, and lets go.

The lounge is Weishen-loud when Johnny opens the door. It sounds of someone watching the shitty bus TV and someone else - Yangyang, most likely, - going through his favoured double-times over Xiaojun's recognizable singing, and it's happened enough times before already that Johnny's appearance does not disrupt the chaotic flow of their soundscape.

"Finally," Ten recognizes Kun's voice from just outside the door, and grins - annoying him, or making him uncomfortable is just one of the perks of having a boyfriend over brings. Ten listens to their quiet conversation, half-drowned in the noises from the lounge; he can't decipher much though so he loses interest quickly, busying himself with Twitter instead. 

His fan-union reports NCT trending some hours ago, and Ten saves some pics from the hashtag for his personal collection of photos of him and Johnny kissing all over the States, with Illinois now leading by a long shot - which isn't really surprising. He updates his own page with a Weishen pic he finds and puts the phone down, yawning. 

Ten gets a new pair of boxers out when he can't reach the ones on the floor and barely manages to put them on before Kun comes in, followed closely by Johnny carrying some no-brand water Ten reaches for immediately.

"I said I was okay with this," Kun says; he looks at Ten, at the discarded clothing on the old carpeting, looks up at Johnny, and the corners of his lips curl downwards, displeased. "I didn't say I wanted to see it happening in front of me in fucking Technicolor, asshole."

Johnny shrugs, and moves past him to pass Ten the water. He pushes Ten's feet to the side and Ten puts them into his lap instead, taking the water gratefully. He wiggles his toes in pleasure as Johnny massages his exposed calf, and follows Kun with his eyes as he looks for something at the foot of his bed and then heads back to the lounge with a book of some kind and his laptop in tow. 

"Don't we have a hotel night on Wednesday?" Kun asks, looking at them over his shoulder.

Ten takes a sip from the bottle. "Tuesday, actually."

Kun seems to consider this for a bit, and then asks, "Can you be decent until then?"

Johnny just laughs. He pulls the curtain over Ten's bed shut and stretches beside Ten as much as he can, his legs still bent at the knees over the covers. Ten hooks a finger over a loop of his jeans and tugs at it until Johnny gets the hint and takes them off, all elbows and angles in the tight confined space. 

He holds Johnny by the waist until he adjusts, and presses his chest closer to Johnny’s back, nosing behind his ear. “We need a shower,” he says, though he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the scent of Johnny’s warm skin, past sweat and faded cologne.

Johnny takes Ten’s hand and holds it up to his lips for a second. “Tuesday, I guess,” he says, and his breath warms Ten’s hand, cold even now, in the middle of summer.

Ten hums his agreement and succumbs to sleep easily, lulled by the even sough of the wheels hitting the I-55. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This work is a part of the [NCTBB 2020](https://twitter.com/BigbangNct/status/1329077075727192066) Collection - thanks for the opportunity to work on such a special project. Please check out the illustration by [pandawful](https://twitter.com/pandawful_/status/1329069542140649479), and show the artist lots of love.  
> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/mottoMoetai).
> 
> Next time on the bandom hell channel: Tuesday?


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